Page 6 of Cursed Shadows 2

Tension is still twisted in her muscles, but her shoulders do sag some, and I hear the faintest breath of relief escape her.

She swallows, then lifts her cautious gaze to mine, a fierce blush on her pretty face—and I want to claw it off.

But I just keep the smile on. “What does he ask of you whenhe visits?”

Fleetingly, I wonder if she can lie as I can.

Eamon can lie. All hybrids can. But I don’t know of any other halfling like me, one with my gift. My fae trait is glamour, and so I think of my ability to lie as my human trait.

Doesshehave a human trait?

I hope she’s not like me. I trust in the light ones better, knowing they can’t lie.

I watch her closely.

She turns her cheek to me and looks out the dusty window at the dark. Here with me, with any female who asks her these things, she yearns to escape. I read that in the taut pull of her mouth, in the flames on her cheek.

She looks down at her hands. “At the beginning…” her whisper falters. “At first,” she starts again, “it was only instructions.”

“What instructions?”

“To kiss him. He never kisses back. Sometimes, I dance for him. Whisper his name like a prayer.” She has shame in her work, it’s in the ugly crimson that has spread down to her chest now. “Sometimes he is passive, other times he is gentle, sometimes he’s rough. It’s never unpleasant.”

I stew in her words for a beat.

In my mind, I peel them back, layer after layer, and note what might serve me.

Daxeel watches her dance and so he pretends it is me; she kisses him as he wishes I would beg for his kiss, but he rejects his own participation, he onlyallowshers; and his name whispered from my lips is what he really wants to hear.

What this harem worker tells me is valuable. It’s not just words and secrets, it’s a weapon she hands over to me.

I’m learning his desires—so I am learning his weaknesses.

“What does that have to do with me?” I ask, though what I really mean is how those instructions from Daxeel mean she recognizes my significance to him, enough to have her staring at me all the time.

“I am skilled,” she breathes the words with the shame of ashunned village. “I have the brewing trait.”

Tears are in her eyes, and I read her too easily. I promised I would not harm her, but she’s afraid that will change, that I will destroy her. Like a fae promise, my assurance can change as circumstances do.

“I learned when I was little, small things, like tonics…” She shakes her head. “I specialise in a popular brew here. If I have the essence of someone—like a fingernail, or blood, or hair, even saliva—I can use it in the brew… and for an hour, I will look like them.”

Her gaze snaps up into my stunned one.

“With Daxeel, I look like you.”

For a beat, my mouth just hangs open.

I stare blankly at her.

Then, of all the questions I should ask, I go for the one screaming in my mind, “Allof me?”

Has Daxeel already had me in the way I never thought he had? Has this whore and her brewing mastery stolen away my bargain?

He might be content using her that way, and can keep away from me… And it explains how he is able to only take it so far with me here when he touches me.

“Not your scent,” she confesses. “Not your voice. Not your mannerisms, your smiles—all that makes you, you. I cannot imitate that.”

My jaw sets for a beat. It’s my turn to look out the window at the dark woods. “How long?”

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